Chapter Text
CURRENT TRIAL: The defendant is charged with the first-degree murder of Doctor Annie Shapiro, American citizen.
“During [the 1900s], it is difficult to find any credible effort to associate injuries with divine influence. Industrialists could have been tempted to call forth an easy excuse and apparent moral association between accidents and acts of God. Instead, they simply blamed workers for carelessness.”
-- “Accidents and acts of God: a history of the terms.” page 103, Loimer and Guarnieri
The courtroom was different, smaller this time, though ornate in the way that old buildings often were. Stratt let her eyes trace over the curls in the wood that lined the ceiling, spidering into the center to support the grand light fixture. In a way, it was comforting not to know the history of the area that she was in. It would be, she imagined, much more personal when she faced her inevitable trials in Germany and the Netherlands, where most of her historical knowledge centered. But here, somewhere in America, she was safe.
From that, at least.
“Ms. Stratt, could you please explain the cause of the explosion that killed Doctor Shapiro?” The prosecuting lawyer was different, less flashy and more passionate. She could imagine him getting red in the face, shaking his fist and spitting furiously, something that the smooth and polished lawyer from her last case wouldn’t dream of. It made this one no less of a threat, of course, even with slightly more room for his error. The United States was always going to convict her of murdering Ryland Grace; she’d done it, after all.
“To the best of my knowledge.” Eva answered dryly, glancing down at her papers before she spoke. “Doctor Shapiro was testing an unlikely error in our astrophage systems for the Hail Mary with Martin Dubois, our Primary Science Officer. They requested one nanogram of Astrophage for their experiments. The research center’s quartermaster instead provided them with one milligram. Since Astrophage is so small, and the containers are nearly identical, the discrepancy was not noticed. The Astrophage was used in the experiment and the heat release was a million times the expected amount, which instantly vaporized the research center and its inhabitants.” And my world rocked in more ways than one, she thought, but kept the comment to herself.
“Ms. Stratt,” the lawyer said, starting to pace in a way that was almost surely for effect rather than an actual need, “why and how exactly was Doctor Shapiro given access to Astrophage?”
Stratt bit her tongue before she could ask if he was stupid. Why? Why had she let the Science Officers of the Astrophage killing mission that took place in an Astrophage-lined ship have access to Astrophage experimentation?
Focus, Eva. Do not turn this trial into spectacle. It will do nothing but muddy the memory of Doctor Shapiro.
“Being the secondary Science Officer,” she replied in what she hoped was an even tone, “Doctor Shapiro had been given extensive education and instruction about the nature of Astrophage by Doctor Ryland Grace--”
“--who you have been convicted of murdering in the first degree.” The lawyer said dryly, cutting her off with a glare. The courtroom bubbled with noise; the jury whispered, the crowd gasped, and most notably, Eva’s lawyer cried out an objection.
“Sustained.” The judge said, setting the full weight of his gaze on the prosecution, who had the mind to look ashamed at his outburst. “The defendant’s crime against Doctor Grace is not relevant to this trial. Please refrain from mentioning her conviction in reference to the death of Doctor Shapiro.”
“Yes, your honor.” The prosecuting lawyer mumbled, and Eva’s lawyer took his seat again. “Please continue, Ms. Stratt.”
Stratt paused for a moment, still prickled with leftover anger and determined not to let it show in her face or tone. “As I was saying,” she said stiffly, “Doctor Shapiro had been given extensive education about Astrophage by Doctor Ryland Grace, who headed our science team. Both Doctor Grace and I decided that Doctor Shapiro and Dubois should have access to Astrophage for testing purposes as deemed safe for transport by the quartermaster and did not exceed the quantity of one-point-five milligrams a day without express permission or leave the containment area at Baiknour.”
“And who decided that these measures were appropriate safety precautions?” The lawyer had stopped in front of her and turned so that they were face to face. Eva stared into his eyes, a beautiful and rare shade of gray, and let the truth fall from her lips.
“I did. In terms of the exact measurements, I consulted Doctor Grace, but I structured the system.”
It was damning, probably. Maybe even unwise to admit. But the fact of the matter was that Eva Stratt had not only signed the papers on these decisions but written them. Behind the prosecutor, she saw her lawyer close his eyes briefly as if in physical pain.
“I see.” The prosecution said, and one side of his mouth curled into what was more of a sneer than a smile. “How long did this decision take to make?”
It had only been an hour or two, Stratt remembered. It had been brought up by somebody -- she couldn’t say who -- that there ought to be some protocol in place around who on the science team could handle the Astrophage at Baikonur. Eva and Grace, along with a handful of other scientists from his team, had sat and created a list of the conditions and amounts of Astrophage that all security levels could access. She remembered the small smile that Grace had sent her when she’d breezed past his clearance with an offhanded “full, obviously”. Others would say that Grace had always been humble and amazed by his role, and Stratt was sure he had been -- but she’d been very clear that she was interested in the part of him, however small or deep down, that believed that he deserved it, and over the years he had let it show in small moments like this one that few else would see and even fewer would understand.
She’d had to hold back a smirk then, but there was no danger of that now as she carefully mulled over her answer. “At least two hours.” She said after a minute more. Enough of a truth -- and even in its most favorable light, not a flattering one. Someone in the room gave a sharp inhale of breath, but she did not look around to see who.
“Two hours.” The lawyer repeated back, eyebrows raised. “So little time.”
“Time was always of the essence during the Project.” Eva said. “This, I believe, has been consistently well-documented?” It wasn’t a real question, and she regretted letting it slip as soon as she said it. Too snarky, she admonished herself. The lawyer raised his hands mockingly, as if defeated.
“One should hope to find time for such important things, is all.” He said. The judge banged his gavel, scowl on his face and ready to admonish the prosecution, but Stratt got there first.
“I can assure you,” she said tightly, “that the safety of Doctor Shapiro was an extremely high priority to both myself and the Project.”
The lawyer’s head tilted as he let the sneer fully unfold across his face.
“Until you could send her off to space to die.” He said with faux seriousness, obviously making fun of her tone.
“That’s enough!” The judge yelled, banging his gavel. “Baliff, please escort out Mr. Jones. This court is in temporary recess due to the intolerable behavior of the prosecution. We will negotiate options on how to move forwards in privacy.”
Eva stood up when a guard pulled on her arm, leading her to a small room off to the side and handcuffing her again. So much for not causing a spectacle, she thought bitterly. Her eyes fell closed for a moment, and she remembered Annie; the way that she could analyze possibilities in split seconds that nobody else would think of in years, how she focused in on whatever goal was laid in front of her, the way that she always made sure Ryland knew when American food was being served in the cafeteria even though he rarely ate with them. Stratt never did have the time to mourn her, even less time than Eva had to get to know her, and it stung in the way that she was becoming increasingly well acquainted with. Technically, of course, Doctor Shapiro’s death had not been her fault. It was a mistake -- a deadly one, but a mistake nonetheless. If anything, it had been the quartermaster’s fault, but he’d paid with his own life almost immediately in the blast. So now who was there left to blame? Only Stratt.
Eva centered herself, planning to pray, but didn’t have time to think of what to say before the door opened and she was pulled right back into the trial.
“But who can discern their own errors?
Forgive my hidden faults.
Keep your servant also from willful sins;
may they not rule over me.
Then I will be blameless,
innocent of great transgression.
May these words of my mouth and this meditation of my heart
be pleasing in your sight,
Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.”
-- Psalm 19:12-14
DECISION: Defendant is guilty of first-degree murder with malice aforethought due to extreme reckless disregard and mishandling of explosive devices.